Countries and Magic Don't Mix
by DystopiaEmpire
Summary: After Voldemort's return starts to affect England's health again, he decides that this time around he's going to do something about it. He gets a job at Hogwarts to keep an eye on the wizarding world under the name Arthur Kirkland. Unfortunately, keeping his identity from a nosy toad and a clever fifth year isn't going to be easy. Takes place during 5th year.
1. Chapter 1: Magic Is Suddenly Important

**Hey everyone! This is a new Harry Potter and Hetalia crossover I'm starting. Since I'm so unreliable, I'm not sure if I'll ever finish it but I can try! It takes place during Harry's fifth year and England is going to be the History of Magic professor. I'm sorry if the characters seem a little OOC. I did my best, but character development isn't exactly my strong point so...we'll see. I'm also sorry if I copied any elements from other Harry Potter and Hetalia crossovers, it's sort of an unconscious thing. Pairings are possible but I'd prefer no FrUK, don't really like that one, sorry. Have fun reading!**

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><p>Chapter 1: Magic is Suddenly Important<p>

England sighed silently to himself as a sharp pain flashed through his heart. It felt like someone was sticking needles him in and then yanking them out. It had been getting a lot worse lately with the sudden return of Voldemort last month. What an awful surprise that had been. England had, just like every other wizard in his country, thought that Voldemort was dead and never to return again. But no, here was again and preparing to spread death and discord just like last time. Just like last time.

England shivered and unconsciously gripped his pen tighter. Now _that_ had been an awful few years. He definitely didn't want a repeat.

England released a breath he didn't know he holding and focused his attention back on America at the podium. The idiot was rattling on about global warming of something and how, the epic hero, would totally save everybody and it would be awesome. England rolled his eyes sarcastically. How this guy was a world power, he didn't know.

"So then I'll come in and save everybody and it's all be good! Happy ending! Of course it'll be because I'm the hero and you guys can be my backup!" America chattered, pointing excitedly at was probably once an important data chart but now had a crude drawing of guy in a cape scribbled on it. "China, you be my backup!"

"Absolutely not, aru."

"Germany, you can be my backup too!"

"Nein."

"Italy, you can be my backup!"

"Ve~?"

"France..." England zoned out whatever America was saying as another pain flashed through his heart. This was one worse. England felt a blood rise in his throat and he forced it down. It wouldn't do him any good to throw up at a World Meeting.

A bit of blood slipped past his defenses and trickled from the corner of his mouth. England furiously rubbed it off ignoring the red stain the soaked into his glove. He could clean them later. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he swallowed heavily again. His hand twitched slightly. _Water. I need water._

England winced as a stomach heaved painfully. He wasn't quite sure what that meant for his country, but he was sure it wasn't good and probably had something to do with magic. Maybe he could ask Norway and Romania about it. Being magical countries like himself, they'd have to know something about this, maybe they'd even have a good remedy! Magic communities always seemed to affect a country more than the normal communities which was why England broke it off with the Ministry of Magic a while back but magic still affected him. Yeah, he should really-

"Yo, British dude! You listenin' to me?"

"Huh? America?" England blinked slightly and the noisy American waved his hand in front of his face.

"Woah, dude, you were like, waaay zoned out!" America said spreading his arms apart. "You weren't responding to me at all!"

"Oi, _Angleterre_, are you alright?" France asked, leaning closer. "You look bit sickly."

"Oh, I'm fine," England murmured, trying to avoid talking as to not spit blood everywhere. He didn't want the others worrying about him too much.

France sat back in his seat and folding his arms. "What, no sarcastic comments? No insults? No tsundereness? Are you really okay, Angleterre? I know that your economy's alright, I've seen the charts, so what is it?"

"I'm fine really, leave me alone," England snapped.

Some of the other countries had began to gather closer, wondering what was going on. They began to murmur to each other.

"What's with England?"

"He's being awfully subdued."

"Well, if you're fine, were having an after party later with just the G8!" America said happily. "You'd better come."

"_Oui_, it is being hosted by _moi_, so I don't want you skipping," France said.

"Ha, why would I ever want to come to party hosted by you?" England retorted weakly. He meant for the insult to come out scathingly but it ended up sounding like a reply rather than a retort.

_Wow, I must be in worst condition that I thought if I can't even insult France properly, _England thought to himself.

France frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"Iggy...you sure you're okay? I don't want to be mean, but you really don't look great..." America leaned closer and stared him in the eyes. "You better not being lying to me. We're allies, remember?"

England leaned back nervously. He really didn't want America's help on this matter. The large nation knew next to nothing about magic and would only hinder rather than help. But if he knew that England was in a bad condition, he wouldn't leave him alone.

England's stomach heaved again and he felt blood rise up his throat for a third time. He quickly swallowed but some of it slipped past and down the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away quickly. England glanced down and caught slight of the reddish mark. He shoved his hands in his pockets so the other countries wouldn't see.

"Oh, I get it!" laughed France suddenly, clapping his hands together and smirking. "_Angleterre_ was just drooling over _Amérique_ and fighting his unrequited love!"

"Wha-!? No!?" snapped England, glaring daggers at the other country. "What the bloody fucking hell, you frog!?"

He opened his mouth to yell more but was cut off as his stomach heaved again. England quickly covered his mouth and sat back sharply to avoid throwing up. His condition was worsening. Voldemort must be on some sort of killing spree. _I really want out of here. I can't keep up this healthy facade much longer._

Both America and France opened their mouths to say something but at that moment the bell that symboled for lunch break rang.

Thank god, breathed England to himself as he shot up from his chair and out the room calling, "Lunch break!" over his shoulder to the two dumbfounded nations. And with that he ran straight the bathroom with a new founded respect for the saying "saved by the bell".

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]_**

England felt much better after he had emptied his stomach. Of course, it had looked bad. Most of the stuff he had thrown up had been his blood and he still felt vaguely dizzy.

England washed out his mouth and sighed slightly. He glanced up at himself in the mirror. He looked better too. Some of the color had returned to his face and his emerald eyes had a bit more light to them.

England frowned suddenly as he felt his vision blur. _Why are there two me's?_ he wondered vaguely before turning round and running right back into the toilet to throw up again. Pain stabbed his heart, much, much harder than before. He could feel the blood falling past his lips as his stomach heaved again. And again. And again.

"Voldemort must really be doing something bad," he whispered to himself. His voice came out rough and raw and he panted heavily to catch his breath. England groaned and clutched the cloth of his suit as more pain exploded in his heart. His people were dying, dying, and the murder kept going on.

England leaned against the wall of the bathroom stall to stabilize himself and let out a heavy breath. He felt slightly better and the color was returning to his face much more rapidly. England looked down at his hands. They were shaking a bit but it wasn't as bad as when he was getting sick.

_Maybe Voldemort's killing spree is over?_ he though hopefully. He didn't hurt as much anymore and his heart rate was returning to normal. Even so, I don't think I want to stick around much longer. _If the magic is effecting me this bad, then I should get back in my own country pronto._

The World Meeting had been held in France that year, something that England wasn't too pleased about.

England breathed in slowly and got up carefully. His legs still felt a little wobbly but it wasn't as bad as before. England glanced at his watch. It was well past the end of lunch break but he couldn't be bothered. _I guess I'll just skip out on this meeting. It's not like anybody will really notice._

England look another deep breath and carefully walked out of the bathroom. He glanced around nervously to make sure that neither America nor France were around and then padded down the hall till he was outside of the office building the World Meeting was being held in.

The fresh air felt nice and it calmed his stomach a little. England pulled out his phone and checked the flight chart for the nearest airport in Paris, Charles de Gaulle Airport. There was a flight to London leaving in about 2 hours. Yes, he could catch that one.

England strutted forward and and let his thoughts wander. It had been absolute hell for him last time Voldemort has risen. He hadn't been able eat or drink anything for several years because he couldn't keep it down. England also was amazed that he hadn't died from blood loss, especially with the amount he threw up. The Ministry of Magic had been in turmoil the entire time and hadn't helped at all. After the famed Boy-Who-Lived defeated Voldemort, England had slowly begun to get better. He tried to cut off all ties with the wizarding world in hope that nothing like that would ever happen again, Norway suggested it. Norway's ideas involving magic were always good.

During the time that England was out, Scotland took his place in most of the political matters and represented The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Island in everything else needed. They had said the England was merely "involved elsewhere with a top secret project" for the time being and only Norway and Romania knew the truth. They assumed it worked because nobody really seemed to care. It wasn't like Scotland did much anyways.

England hailed a cab as he reached the road. _"À l'aéroport , s'il vous plaît,"_ (To the airport, please) he said to the driver as England stepped inside. The driver nodded and off they went. England relaxed against the seats and yawned sleepily. He felt much better now that he was on his way back to his country. He would probably have to get reacquainted with the wizard world of he actually wanted to be of some use this time around with Voldemort. Just waiting for someone else to do him in properly would not be worth the pain.

As England felt himself begin to doze off as the houses and people of Paris flashed by. _Bunch of bloody Frenchies,_ he thought to himself. He wondered briefly if the others would care that he wasn't at the meeting but he doubted it. They wouldn't even notice he was missing.

England let his mind wander. He thought about something that he could do to help improve the Voldemort problem. One name kept reappearing.

_Harry Potter..._

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}_**

America frowned to himself as he looked out the window. The meeting has restarted half an hour ago and England still wasn't there. Ordinarily, this wouldn't have mattered very much, many of the smaller countries didn't bother coming to meetings at all, but England was really studious and America didn't think he had missed a meeting in his life. The island country had also looked pretty awful in the morning so America couldn't help but be worried about him. He had already sent England several texts but he wasn't responding.

"America, are you alright? You're unusually quiet." America glanced up to see Canada looking down at him, purple eyes wide with worry. He grinned.

"Hey Canada bro! When'd you get here?" America asked, leaning on his hand.

Canada sighed. "I've been here the whole time. Really, brother."

America laughed. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just wondering where England was. He hasn't shown up."

Canada frowned thoughtfully. "I don't where he is. He was here this morning..."

"Hey!" America and Canada looked over at Germany as he slammed his hand down on the table. Italy had been presenting his speech (it was about politics but had continuous, subtle hints about the brilliance of pasta) and Germany looked annoyed that they weren't playing attention. "America and...whoever the hell you are, stop talking!"

America rolled his eyes and snapped, "hey! I'm the hero, you can't tell me what to do!"

This instigated Germany to growl a retort and in turn a full out arguing match between all the countries. France looked rather lost without England to yell at.

_England... _though America as he dodged a bullet from Switzerland's ever present gun. _What are you hiding?_

_**[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{} **Much later, after G8 party_

America sat on a bench in a park in Paris and stared up at the black night sky. He couldn't see anything, what with the lights from the city interfering, but in his half drunk state he thought that the sky looked beautiful anyways.

England hadn't shown up. America felt really disappointed at this because he had said that he would. And England never turned down drinking. Ever. It just wasn't right! Where the hell was England and why did he just walk out of the World Meeting?

America sighed as he felt a vibration in his left pocket. He fished out his cell phone glanced blearily at the text he had just received. It was France. _**Were r u? We're doing fireworks now.**_

America perked up considerably at this. Fireworks, especially red, white, and blue ones, were some of his favorite things. He hopped from his seat and trotted along a lamp-lit path to the clearing where the G8 (well, there were only seven currently) were holding their party, courtesy of France.

America grinned to himself. Ah well, he'd go Iggy-hunting later.

_**[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}**_

England smiled to himself as he unlocked the door to his large house in London. He was feeling much better now that he was home and Voldemort seemed to have stopped killing for the time being.

The plane ride from France hadn't been long, but it had given him plenty of time to think about what he wanted to do about the whole Voldemort situation and now he had a plan. England knew, from what the last Minister of Magic had told him, that there was a prophecy saying that Harry Potter would be the one to defeat Voldemort in the end. That meant the boy had to be protected, so, hence he came up with the idea to get a teaching job at Hogwarts, England's magic school. Actually, it was in Scotland but most of the students were British. A job at the school would also be good because he could safely watch the comings and goings of the wizarding world. There was also Dumbledore, who always seemed to know stuff he shouldn't, who could be a great help.

The next part of his plan was simple; he had to disappear. Not literally, of course and he couldn't just jump off the map, he was a country! But, he needed the other countries to stay out of his way for bit of he wanted this to work. Knowing them, and especially America, they would probably want to help and because of their lack of magical power, they really wouldn't be able to do much. Hogwarts wasn't locatable (neither was most of the magical community) so he shouldn't have a very hard time staying out of their way. And Scotland could take his place in all the important stuff, just like last time Voldemort was on the rise.

Well, there was his condition, and if Voldemort decided to go on a killing spree again, that would a problem, though England thought he could deal with it. Maybe he could say that he had some sort of intestinal disease that came up once in while. That would make a good excuse, he thought.

England smirked as he walked into his house. He was feeling immensely pleased with himself for thinking up such an ingenious plan.

England put down his bag and picked up his schedule for the next few weeks. He had few meetings that he was supposed to go to, but they could be easily canceled. Sure, his boss was going to be mad at him, but England could deal with that. Anyways, he deserved a few years off.

England flipped through a pages. Nothing really important except for the G8 meeting which was in two weeks. He would deal with this later. For now, he had concentrate on convincing Scotland to help him. England sighed and then picked up his cell phone and frowned. He a ton of texts and several missed calls from America. England idly flipped through the stuff and his frown deepened. All consisted of a similar message.

_**Iggy, were u go?**_

_**Hey, the meeting started. Where r u?**_

_**Com back. We cant start without u.**_

_**Srsly, were r u?**_

England smiled softly. He hadn't realized America cared so much. It made him feel slightly guilty for disappearing on him but there were more important matters than America at the moment. England scrolled into his contacts and selected Scotland. He wasn't entirely sure if his brother would answer, they weren't on the best of terms nowadays, what with Scotland demanding his independence and all, but he still hoped his brother would help.

The phone rang three times before Scotland picked up. _"What?"_ he snapped.

"Hey Scotland, it's England," England said.

_"I know," _Scotland said. _"What do ye want, little brother?"_

England frowned. Well, at least Scotland was listening to him. "I need your help."

_"I don't particularly feel like giving ye it,"_ Scotland growled.

England narrowed his eyes slightly. "This had to do with Voldemort." He could practically feel Scotland's surprise.

_"What?"_

"Yeah, I know. Apparently he wasn't as gone as we thought. He came back and I've been getting sick again."

_"What?"_

"Speak intelligently, brother, I know you can," England snapped. "I need you to cover for me. This time I'm going to do something about Voldy personally."

There was long pause. Finally Scotland spoke, _"Alright little brother, I'll help ye on this. But you owe me. Big time. I'll go to the next G8 meeting for you. When is it?"_

England sighed in relief. "Thanks Scot. This really means a lot to me." His voice took on a business like tone. "The next G8 meeting is in two weeks, in New York. I'll send you the travel information later."

_"Yeah, yeah,"_ sighed Scotland. _"Just remember, you owe me big time for this."_

"Thanks. Oh, and don't tell the others were I've gone. They'll just be nuisance."

_" 'Kay,"_ agreed Scotland. _"I'm hanging up now. Bye little brother."_

"Bye." England couldn't stop the grin that split his face. So far everything was going well.

_**[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}**_

Three hours later England had pretty much managed to tie up all the loose ends for his departure. As he had expected, his boss was pissed but he couldn't really do anything to stop England.

England smiled with a newfound determination as he pulled his old green cloak and picked up his wand. England hadn't used his wand in long, long time. It was made of _Weinmannia_ _spiraeoides_, a type of flowering plant that went extinct back in the 1800's and was around 14 inches. The core was dual, angel feather and hair from a banshee. Both were irregular cores and not commonly used.

England tucked his wand in his pocket with the key to his Gringotts vault and his cell phone. He had turned it off, he didn't what it ringing in around wizards, but since he was nation he was required to have it with him even if technology didn't usually work in magical places.

Finally, England grabbed a small vial that contained a green powder. Floo powder, which he could use to teleport to Diagon Alley. That's where England decided it would be the best place to get reacquainted with the wizarding world.

"Oh, wait," England muttered to himself as he was about to throw the Floo powder into the small, crackling fireplace in his living room. "I need to write to Dumbledore about a teaching position."

England placed the vial of Floo powder back on his desk and sat down. Digging around in the drawers for a minutes, England found what he was looking for. A small silver key with a tiny model broomstick was tied to it with string. England placed the carefully into the lowest drawer on his desk, the only one with a lock, and turned it. The drawer clicked and opened. Inside there was a few quills, roles of parchment, and two bottles of ink. England selected a piece of parchment, a quill and one of the ink bottles. He dipped a quill into the ink and began to write.

_Dear Albus Dumbledore,_

_My name is Arthur Kirkland and I would like to apply for a teaching position at Hogwarts. It has come to my attention that there are several vacant options this year and I am comfortable teaching any position. All other personal info is attached in my résumé. Please consider me for the job._

_Sincerely, Arthur Kirkland._

England frowned slightly at the letter. It was short and he had no idea of this was the correct way to apply for job. Ah well, he'd find out eventually.

England leaned back down and dug out his old wizard résumé from under a pile of unused parchment. He skimmed over it quickly, changing dates here and there to make it more believable. He sighed slightly and sat back, the tucked the letter and his wizarding résumé in a pocket in his robe. He'd have to remember to buy an owl later to send it.

England stood up and grabbed the vial of Floo powder on his desk. He briefly considered apperating instead, but he wasn't entirely sure were Diagon Alley was anymore. So, Floo powder it was.

England threw a small handful of Floo powder in the fireplace. As the flames flickered green, he stepped into them and shouted, "Diagon Alley!"

There was a _whooshing_ sound and England was off the see the wizards.

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><p><strong>Yay, first chapter done! Please review, I need to know whether or not I should continue.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

**Chapter 2: Diagon Alley**

England coughed a bit as he stepped out of the fireplace, waving the smoke away from his face. Immediately, loud conversation hit his ears and he stood up straight and adjusted his robes. He appeared to be in some pub. Everybody there were obviously wizards, he could tell because of their trademark robes and the 17th century style of the pub.

England padded over to the counter and sat down in an empty, waiting for someone to come.

"Ya be wan'in' anythin', sir?" England glanced up to see the bartender standing on the other side of the counter.

England shook his head. "Not to order, no, but I was wondering if you could tell me where I am?"

The bartender grinned. "Why, this be the Leaky Cauldron."

"Ahh," mused England. "And how do I get to Diagon Alley from here?"

"It' just through that door," the bartender said, pointing at a small doorway at the back of the pub. England nodded thanks and got up.

"Wai' jus' a sec!" the bartender called. "Wha's yer name? I haven' seen you 'round 'fore."

England turned back to look at him. He paused for a second to think and then said, "Arthur Kirkland." The bartender raised an eyebrow and England, no, Arthur, turned and walked out the door.

Now outside, Arthur wasn't entirely sure what to do. He stared blankly at the wall for a while before a small spark of inspiration flickered inside him and he pulled out his wand, tapping it against the wall a few times.

England watched in bemusement as the bricks began to slowly move apart and then reform to create a doorway. He looked at it for a moment before he strutted forward and into Diagon Alley, making a mental note to do that with his door so that America and France would stop randomly dropping by.

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}_**

The wall took a little longer than usual to close. It was still in shock. The wall had been around for thousands upon thousands of years and it had seen hundreds of famous wizards pass underneath it. But that one... that was one the wall would never forget.

The wall knew the wand that had just opened it well. It was very powerful and very old, perhaps to much so. That wand belonged to England himself, the very essence of their glorious country.

_Something big is going on_, the wall thought. _If England has decided to pay a visit to the wizards._

_**[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}**_

England frowned as he looked down the street of Diagon Alley. It was busy, people rushing everywhere with bags of shopping and all sorts of other things in their arms. And there was so much stuff! England hadn't realized how much Diagon Alley had grown since the last time he had been there, a little over twenty years ago. Of course there was always Olivander's and Flourish and Blotts never seemed to disappear but it had still changed. He shifted his weight a few times, indecisive.

"Hey, watch it!" England staggered forward a few steps as someone shoved from behind. He glared at whoever had pushed and opened his mouth, preparing to retort, but they had already melted back into the crowd, a box held tediously in their hands.

He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "What do I need to do first...?" England murmured, gazing down at the street. "Money...I need wizard money...to Gringotts, then."

England pushed his way through crowd towards Gringrotts. He could see the bank, it's marble pillars rose high above everything else. England put his hand in his cloak pocket and idly fingered the key to his vault. He had a vault in Gringotts of course. Actually, he had been there when Gringotts was created, in 1474. Well, recalled England, he had been rather drunk at the time, but he had most definitely been there.

England walked up a set of stairs to the doors of Gringotts and hesitantly touched it. The door shivered under his touch. Gringotts knew who he was. England smiled slightly.

He walked forward past a goblin guard and up to the second set of doors where there was an engraving written there, set in stone. England read quickly.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed  
>Of what awaits the sin of greed<br>For those who take, but do not earn  
>Must pay most dearly in their turn<br>So if you seek beneath our floors  
>A treasure that was never yours<br>Thief, you have been warned, beware  
>Of finding more than treasure there<em>

_**(Harry Potter and Sorcerer's Stone, page 72-73. All rights go to J.K. Rowling)**_

_Ah, but I am no stranger,_ thought England cheekily as he pushed open the door to Gringotts.

England strode across the hall of the bank quickly till he reached one of the goblin attendants. He placed his key on the desk.

"Which vault?" asked the attending goblin in a bored voice.

"Vault One, please," England said. The goblin dropped his quill in surprise.

"Vault One hasn't been opened in centuries," the goblin snapped. "Come back when you're ready to give me real answer."

"_Vault One_," repeated England firmly, annoyed at being treated like a kid. He had forgotten that he hadn't bothered to pick up money from Gringotts since 1578 since he always had a small safe of money in his home. That was, until he got rid of when he separated from the wizarding community.

The goblin glared at him but he carefully reached forward and picked up the key England had placed on the desk. The goblin turned it over in his hands a few times before putting it back down gently. "It's legit," he said in surprise. Then his gaze grew suspicious. "Were did you get this, lad?"

England shrugged. "It was given to me when I was assigned my vault. I've always had it."

The goblin stared at England again. England could practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, he pressed down on a bell on his desk and another goblin padded over.

"Naghog, take this...this...human...to Vault One," the attending goblin said, as if not sure what to call England other than human. Naghog blinked in surprise but he took the key handed to him without question and beckoned England to follow him.

Gringotts, like most wizarding strongholds, hadn't changed much in the centuries it had been active. Stalagmites and stalactites stuck up all over the place like thorns and the mine-cart tracks were rusted and ratty. England figured that the only real reason they worked was because of the overwhelming magical power of the vaults. England could feel it as they went down, like a consistent tingling in his heart.

He shivered unconsciously. Gringotts had never been his favorite place though he couldn't deny it's power. England had often considered placing some of his more treasured artifacts he had gathered from various raids down here. He had some very valuable things he had acquired from pirate expeditions and the Industrial Revolution. God, those were good times.

Putting the 2p's mirrors in Gringotts was probably also a good idea. The insane doppelgängers hadn't bothered them in centuries, especially since England had locked them up, but it was better to be safe then sorry.

"We're here." Naghog's voice sliced through his revere. Vault One wasn't that far down, being the first to be built, but it was more heavily guarded than appeared at first glance.

England nodded shortly and stepped out of the mine-cart. He was a little wobbly and had to lean against stalactite (stalagmite? He could never remember.) to catch his balance. He winced as a flicker of pain flashed through his heart. Voldemort must have just killed someone. He unconsciously tightened his hold on the job registration letter in his pocket.

The pain was gone as soon as it came and England straightened up. The goblin, Naghog, gave a annoyed look.

In front of them was the huge door to Vault One. It was made of all sorts of ornate metals that blended and twirled around each other in a silent, still dance that, if looked at correctly, formed the outline of the British flag. There was a small keyhole in the very center of the door which Naghog carefully placed England's key into. He twisted it slowly. The door didn't budge.

Naghog frowned and jerked the key around sharply for a few moments. The door still did budge. It just sat perfectly still and taunting as if to say, "awww, the wee goblin can't open a door in his own stronghold?"

England cocked his head slightly at door and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If he remembered correctly, there was something specific he had to do to open the door. But what was it...?

"Ah, right," England muttered. " 'Scuse me." He slipped past the goblin, who was still trying to unlock the stubborn door.

England placed his hand over a small reddish stone set in several long wires made of gold. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. England concentrated on the flow of magic that ran throughout all of Gringotts. He found the spell that locked his vault and locked his focus on it. Then, he pushed on the door as hard as he could.

The intricate designs on the door began to move, unwinding and untangling, until the door slowly lurched forward.

Grinning, England stepped back and surveyed his work. The lighting was dim but even without it he could see the mounds of gold Galleons with specklings of silver and bronze that represented Sickles and Knuts. England had a lot of wizarding money that he had gathered from various places throughout the years before Gringotts had been created, so he was eager to have somewhere safe to put it.

England walked forward swiftly and gathered a handful of Galleons from the floor. He placed them in one of the many pockets the inside of his cloak housed and turned to walk out of his vault.

Something shiny caught the corner of England's eyes and he turned. On the edge of the vault there was a variety of items that weren't money. England padded over to the pile and picked up the item that had caught his eye. At first glance it looked to be a spool of silver thread of some kind but, with a start, England realized it wasn't. The thread was actually bright blonde hair.

_My hair, _England mused. He remembered why he had put his hair in Vault One; hair from rare and unusual creatures tended to have magic properties and, as much as it belittled him, England was no exception. He was a nation and a powerful one at that. He had plucked some of his hair and left it to sit in a highly magic place to see if anything would happen. And, if the way it was shimmering was anything to go by, something had happened.

England pocketed his hair and walked out of the vault. He would take a closer look later.

Naghog was watching him curiously as he left the vault. The goblin looked like he wanted to ask questions -"How did a young human like you get a hold on the key to the first vault?- and -"How come you could open it but I couldn't?"- but he refrained. England resisted the urge to smirk as he stepped back into the mine-cart.

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}_**

Back at the surface, every goblin was watching him with mixed expressions of confusion, suspicion and admiration. England figured that news spread quickly in Gringotts.

He ducked his head and hurried across the floor towards the door, feeling slightly unnerved by all the attention. He hoped he hadn't done anything too attention seeking.

England stepped back outside to the classic London wind and cold and was once again was blinded by the consistent movement of Diagon Alley. He quickly hopped down the steps that led up to Gringotts and melted back into the crowd.

As he slipped between an arguing couple, England started to make a mental list of all the things he needed to do in Diagon Alley. He knew that he would probably need to stay for two or three weeks to properly fit back in with the wizarding community so first things first, he needed a place to stay.

England racked his brain for all the stuff he knew about Diagon Alley. If he remembered correctly, there was a popular motel a little farther down called Zonk's Place. England turned his eyes upward and looked carefully from sign to sign as in search of Zonk's. Olivander's, Stonf's Steads, Extoper's, Kellkin's Kittens...ah! There it is!

England slipped through the crowd, advantaging because of his small stature (wizards were so pushy!) to the door of Zonk's. He pushed the door open and a small bell rang from somewhere.

The inside lobby was small and dusty. Like most shops in Diagon Alley, it was bigger on the inside than physically possible but still small. It was furnished simply with a circle of couches in the center of the room and a bored looking attendant at a desk, idly twirling a quill with one hand. A coffee table with a random of assortment of magazines and issues of the Daily Prophet were assembled on it's surface. There were no windows and the room was dimly lit with only a few braces that held torches protruding from the wall.

The attendant perked up considerably when England walked in. "Are yer 'ere to 'ent a room?" he asked hopefully.

England nodded and approached the wizard behind the desk. "Yeah. How much for a room?"

"It'll be 2 Galleons ah night. How long ye stayin'?" the attendant said, holding up two fingers.

"Two and half weeks," answered England promptly.

The attendants eyes widened slightly. "Tha's a 'ong whi'e. A'right, ye pay at the end of yer visit. Fill yer name 'ere." He pointed at name chart. England nodded and wrote 'Arthur Kirkland' and 'Two and half weeks' after it in loopy writing. The attendant handed him a key saying, "It's up da stai's and to the 'ight." England picked up the keys and went where the attendant directed.

England's new room was small and cozy. It contained only a bed and a bathroom with a few chairs and a fireplace. There was balcony that overlooked Diagon Alley. England slipped off his shoes and padded out onto the balcony. Wizards and witches bustled around a few feet below him, carrying their various assortments of shopping. England could see their multicolored robes billowing out around them constantly as voices rose and fell like waves with the movement of the crowd.

England wandered back into his room and looked around, studying the bathroom and inspecting each chair by sitting in them. He tapped the fireplace experimentally with his wand a few times and it burst into flame, scorching the surrounding bricks and nearly burning his nose off. He jumped back and quickly muttered "_Aguamenti_" under his breath. Immediately a huge explosion of water erupted from the tip of his wand soaking the fireplace as well as England plus half the room. England glared down at the offending stick. He flicked it very slightly in no particular way and a vase by the door exploded. England jumped. He quickly stuffed the wand in his pocket, feeling like a foolish first year touching a wand for the first time, and a strutted out of the messy room, locking the door securely behind him, intending to do to Olivander's for a wand check up.

The attending guy at the desk gave him an odd look as England quickly walked out of the from door.

Back on the streets, England glanced around quickly from left and right, looking for Olivander's telltale turquoise door. He spotted it and quickly made his way over, pushing the door and making his way in. England hasn't used his wand for a while and it was very, very powerful, do he figured it was only natural that he didn't have perfect control over it yet.

At first glance Olivander's appeared to empty. It was musty and smelled like wood, sawdust and blood, for some reason. There were several long lines of bookcases piled high with boxes of wands. England slowed and paused and stopped at a counter in the center of the room. He frowned and looked around. Was he missing something...?

"Ah, you look a little too old to be choosing your first wand. Repairs, I presume?" England gave a start and looked sharply to his left. An old man with a grizzled but intelligent face and shoulder length white hair stood on a latter that peaked around the corner of bookcase. England shivered unconsciously. The man reminded him uncomfortably of an old France.

"Um, no, not repairs," England muttered, not wanting to look the man in the eyes. He felt like those eyes could see into his soul, a feeling that he hated. "I just need to have a wand looked at. It's been...a little out of control lately."

Olivander hopped down from his ladder and practically reappeared at the desk in front of England. He stood expectantly and placed his hand out. England shivered again and dig into his pocket, extracting his wand and giving it to Olivander.

Olivander looked at it for minute before his eyes suddenly went wide with shock. "Where did you get this, lad?" he asked quietly, voice laced with awe.

England frowned. "It's my wand, I've always had it," he said. That was the truth. The wand had been given to him by Scotland a long, long time ago so he never really questioned where it came from. It was just always there, a constant part of his wizarding side.

Olivander looked at England with wide, soul-seeking eyes. England shivered again.

"You are...more than you seem, boy," Olivander said finally, after a long pause. It wasn't a question.

England shrugged. "Just tell me what's wrong with my wand."

Olivander sighed. "_Weinmannia spiraeoides_, a type of plant that went extinct back in the 1800's, 14 inches, dual core, angel feather and hair of a banshee, a slightly springy. A wand like this-" he placed it gently down on the table "-is extremely rare and very powerful."

England nodded. He knew as much.

Olivander continued, "where you got such a wand is a mystery to me. It is old, too old perhaps, and dual cores are very dangerous if not handled correctly and by a powerful wizard. You should know, wands tend to gain power and accuracy as they age and this wand is old enough that I can't identify the maker" -England raised his eyebrow at this. Even Olivander didn't know? He recalled the sign on the door, since 328 B.C- "Someone must have trusted you very much to give you a powerful wand like this."

"Perhaps a long time ago," England said vaguely. "But, I've been able to use it fine before."

Olivander narrowed his eyes. "How long did it take you to master the wand last time?" he inquired.

England opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. Technically it had taken him several decades, but he couldn't out and say that. But, a few decades weren't very long for a nation. "Not very long," he finally said.

Olivander seemed to have realized by then that the odd stranger with the superpower wand was a lot more than he looked and definitely much older. He asked, "how long since you used this wand last?"

"Well," mused England, "just a few minutes ago really-"

"_Properly_," interrupted Olivander. England narrowed his eyes.

"Fourteen years ago," he answered grudgingly.

Olivander nodding like England's answer was what he expected. "And has anybody other that you used this wand in that gap?"

England shook his head. Olivander hummed thoughtfully. "A wand like this, if you have had it for a long as you can remember, which I assume is longer than meets the eye, than it is _your_ wand. However, I would say that in the fourteen years you didn't use it you lost magic whereas the wand only gained. So right now you two are uneven. I would recommend becoming more adapt at magic with a wand easier to handle and then try the _Weinmannia spiraeoides_ wand again."

"So I just need to get better at magic and then I can use this one again?" England asked.

"Yes," Olivander confirmed. "You are welcome to try and find a wand from here, though you are a little old to be picking a wand."

England nodded slowly, his brain still spinning slightly. "Yes, that's alright, I'll get one here."

To be honest, England really didn't like the idea of using a wand other than the _Weinmannia spiraeoides_ one. That was _his_ wand and nothing else. "But," he added, "I want to keep my old wand with me. Do you have anything to help with that?"

Olivander peaked out from around a bookcase and frowned. "Yes..." he mused softly. "Yes actually, I do. Stay here."

Olivander shot off again into the depths of his shop again while England still stood uncomfortably at the front. He took the opportunity to pick his Weinmannia spiraeoides wand off the table and grip the hilt. It felt comfortable in his hand, a familiar object. He didn't like that Olivander had touched it.

"Here." England looked up to see Olivander enter the vicinity again, something small and shiny in his hand.

Olivander glanced disapprovingly at the wand in England's hand and he held out his own expectantly. England reluctantly gave Olivander the wand and he fixed something the tip while England looked on with vague curiosity.

"This will help block the majority of the magic in the wand and keep under relative control. I still wouldn't recommend using it though." Olivander handed England his wand back and he held it up to the light and automatically blanched. At the tip the was a gold star with shimmery edges.

"Um, what is this?" questioned England, trying to sound civil.

Olivander raised an eyebrow. "It's a magic repelling charm, or course. Wizards used to use them as decoration a long time ago, that was until they realized how damaging it was to their magical performance. This is the strongest one I have."

England blinked at it uncertainly. "But it looks like a toy..."

"Try casting a spell," suggested Olivander.

"Alright..." muttered England doubtfully. He flicked the star-tipped wand randomly. Unlike last time in his room, nothing happened. "Wingardium Leviosa," he murmured, pointing to a chair in the corner of the room. The chair lifted slowly into the air at wand-point before promptly bursting into flame. England yelped.

"Nope, nope," muttered Olivander. "Better not use that one yet. Here." He handed England a short black wand. "Ebony, 7 1/2 inches, dragon heartstring, sturdy."

England placed the Weinmannia spiraeoides wand back in his pocket complete with it's little star charm and took it from Olivander's offered hand. The second he touched it it shattered, little pieces scattering about the floor.

None of the other wands were much different.

Second...stuck itself in the ceiling and refused to come down.  
>Third...melted into a red blob and formed an 'x' on the floor.<br>Fourth...turned into a handgun and threatened to shot him,  
>Fifth...bent into circle and continuously rolled away from him.<br>Sixth...straight up exploded.  
>Seventh...also exploded.<p>

England sighed and backed away from the wand offered to him by Olivander. "These ones really don't seem to like me...maybe I should try something different."

"Nonsense," sniffed Olivander. "We'll find one that fits you."

England lowered his and placed them in his pockets, sighing again. It seemed like a hopeless cause and he didn't want to destroy anymore of Olivander's wands. His hand brushed against something in his pocket and he brought it out. It was the spool of his magic hair that he had left in Gringotts. A flicker of an idea crossed his head and he called, "hey Olivander! What about this?"

Olivander trotted over to England plucked the spool of offered hair out of his hand. Again he frowned and then his eyes grew wide with surprise and awe.

"What is this?" he asked.

England opened his mouth to answer but though better of it and simply said, "confidential."

Olivander seemed a bit surprised by the chose of words but he nodded. "This...material. I think it would suit you well."

England grinned. "Do you think you could make me a wand out of it?"

"I could...but it will take me while since I am unfamiliar with this material," Olivander said, winding a strand of shiny hair loosely around his finger.

"How long?" questioned England.

"Around three weeks, I would say." Olivander placed the spool of hair on his table.

England mentally checked his schedule. Hogwarts started in about a month so of he could get a job there he'd have to mindful of that. He'd be in Diagon Alley for about two and half weeks. That would give him about a week and half to finish up major work for the year he'd be absent. He could pick up the finished wand sometime then.

"Yeah, that sounds good," England said. "How much does it cost?"

"Since I'm making the wand personally, I'd say about 20 Galleons."

England nodded. "Right then, I pay you after the wand is finished?"

"Yes," confirmed Olivander. "Though may I ask one more thing?"

England cocked his head curiously. Olivander continued, "May I keep the rest of the extra thread? I won't need it all for your wand and it would make for a very...interesting core."

England thought for a moment and then nodded slowly. "Yes...you may. But be wary of it's power and don't question me about were I got it."

Olivander grinned in a way that reminded England uncomfortably of France. "Good day, Arthur." Then he turned and slunk back into his shop.

England shivered slightly and padded out of the shop, feeling oddly depressed.

As he walked back to the motel, England realized something with a start. He had never told Olivander his name, real or alias. So how had he known...?

England shook his head tiredly. It had been a long day and he must have just been imagining things. He walked past the attendant at the desk and to his room, locking the room and dropping onto the bed, feeling suddenly exhausted.

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**Yay, chapter two. Thank you guys so much, I amazed by the response my first chapter received. I'll try to keep updating constantly (it gives me an excuse to avoid homework while still doing something productive).**

**Anyhow, this is probably the longest chapter of anything I've ever written. Nearly 5,000 words! I can tell you that future chapters probably won't be as long I was just going through a weird phase. By the way, I need a beta. Is there anyone willing to beta for me? If so, please contact me!**

**Also, if I was going to write a Harry Potter/Hetalia crossover, I simply couldn't not include Iggy's star wand. It was too funny.**

**Final note, if anybody was a little confused by the storyline, I'll try to explain it a bit. All this, meaning chapters 1 and 2, took place on the same day, the day of the World Meeting in the first chapter. However, the scene with America after the G8 party in France was also on the same day but it was technically a lot later, perhaps later than all the stuff with Iggy in the second chapter. Remember, Iggy's phone doesn't work and even of it did, he's ignoring it. The next chapter will all take place the next day.**


	3. Chapter 3: Iggy-hunting

**Take note when you read this chapter that it is set in mid-morning the day after the World Meeting and most of the countries have gone back home. America is in America.**

Chapter 3: Iggy-hunting

America paced frantically back and forth his room, iPhone clutched in his hands. England hadn't been responding to any of his calls or texts. Ordinary this wouldn't have meant much, as England tended to ignore him when he was being nosy, but England hadn't been answering at all since he disappeared during the World Meeting yesterday. He probably thought that he was being sneaky but everybody had noticed, not that most of them cared very much.

England had looked pretty bad yesterday. He was paler that normal, and that was saying something for someone who lived a country of constant gloom. Countries only got sick when something went wrong in their economies or if there was some sort of disaster but America knew that England's economy was fine for the time being. All of them had their bad spells, when they got a cold or the flu when there was dip in the stock market, but the thing was, with globalization a strong factor, if one country got sick the chances were that they all would have some sort of ailment. For England to look that sick, something big and bad must have happened and it would have to be very specific to his country which was a rarity nowadays.

America was an idiot, he knew that. It was told to him daily by just about everyone he knew and often by people he didn't know. However, when America really put his mind to it, he figure just about anything out with a few carefully placed computer clicks and well-documented memories. He would, as England fondly called it, "go Sherlockian on him".

But now, England was missing. Well, technically he hadn't been gone for over 48 hours so it couldn't be classified as missing, but America had come to the conclusion that something terribly awful had happened to him. The next G8 Meeting was coming up (he was going to be hosting it in his own New. York. City!) and England wouldn't risk not sticking close to the comings and going of the politic world during that time, especially since it was so unusually near the annul World Meeting.

Growling to himself in a mix of annoyance and worry, America pulled back his arm and chucked his iPhone across the room. It his the wall with a satisfying _clash!_.

America realized what he had done and his eyes widened with fear. He crossed the length of the room in a mere three strides and scooped up his phone. To his relief it still worked with just a small crack in the corner of the screen that spread towards the middle in veiny white lines. He pressed the home button to turn it on and sighed in relief as the brightly glowed brightly.

A flicker of thought passed through America's mind and he remembered back to the few years that England had been absent 14 years ago. He had said that he was doing some sort of undercover mission and Scotland had come to the meetings in his place. Well actually, he tended not to show up anyways but the representation had still officially changed. America had almost forgot about it.

Now, America scrolled quickly down his contacts list until he got to Scotland. He almost missed it, there were a lot of countries in the world and he often had trouble keeping track of all of them.

He tapped Scotland and put the phone up to his ear and listened impatiently as it rung while pacing the length of his messy room.

There was click on the other end as Scotland picked up the phone. _"Wazzit?"_ he asked, slurring the words. The loud noises of a party and cheering echoed behind him.

America growled. He sounded dead drunk which was not good for the England situation. "Scotland," he addressed shortly. "Where's England?"

"_Eng'and? Oh ye-ah, my b-brother,"_ Scotland said. _" 'E's sick, da bastard. Wouldn' go drinkin'."_

"But where is he?" ground out America. He wasn't getting anywhere with this drunkard. "Is he at his house? Should I go there?" America figured England wasn't at his home otherwise he would be answering.

Scotland laughed bitterly on the other side. _"Me wee brother!"_ he shouted, making America jump. _" 'E's gone to 'ee da wi...wi..wizards!"_ He laughed loudly. _"Don' wanna be foun', e won' be! Me wee brother! IMMA KILL YA FUCKERS!"_ America hissed and pulled the phone away from his ear as Scotland. He didn't think that anger was directed at him though. More likely someone as the party he was at.

There was click on the other side as Scotland hung up.

America barely managed to resist throwing his phone at the wall again. He's gone to see the wizards? Doesn't want to be found? Sick? Well, the last one he knew the rest of it didn't make any sense. What the hell with wizards and why in the world didn't he want to be found?

America only had one option left. He needed help. After all, what was a hero without his backup? He was going to rescue England from whatever horrible fate had befallen, just like any self respecting hero would to his damsel in distress.

America blushed a little at the last proclamation and quickly shook it off. England would kill him for saying something so ridiculous. America could imagine his cute face twisting in classic rage as he yelled British insults at him. America snickered to himself.

Deciding it might be better not to telepathically piss off the very person he was trying to rescue at the moment, America pushed all cute and angry England thoughts to the back of his head. He placed his iPhone on the table, cracked screen and all and snapped his laptop open. If he was going to find England he'd have to first consult the one person who knew him best, other then himself of course, and even though they hated each other, this was the best course of action.

America opened up his mail account and began to type.

_To: france _ is _ beautiful hotmail . com  
>From: is - the - hero hotmail . com<em>

_Yo Frenchie! So, England is missing and I have no idea where he went. I called Scottie but wow was he drunk. All I could get out of him was some shit about 'going to see the wizards' and 'doesn't want to found'. He also mentioned that he was sick with something. Dude, this is totally an awesome opportunity to piss him off! But I need you to tell me if you know anything as to where he would be._

_-America_

America sat back in his chair and grinned. France was sure to know something. Even though they hated each other on the surface, America was pretty sure that they were practically best friends and they knew everything about each other. Actually, that probably came from the 100 Years War and the saying _'know thy enemy'_ or however it went but it was still information. Now all he had to do was wait.

Sure enough, France answered as soon as he saw the message.

_Dear Amérique,_

_Angleterre is missing? I knew he wasn't at the second half of the meeting but this a most interesting development. I'm definitely in. If he doesn't want to be found then this is a perfect opportunity to find him. As his frenemy though, I would say that if he really is sick that I'll help him. We are all allies, are we not?_

_I can't tell you much but you do know that Angleterre believes strongly in magic? Perhaps saying 'wizards' is something to do with that or maybe code for something. We'd be best off asking someone like Norway or Romania who know a lot about magic. Don't bother with Scotland, he'll be drunk off his ass for while longer now, I assume. And anyways, he's known to be a crazy drunk but not particularly honest. Or maybe that's Ireland...? Well, they're still similar._

_I'll come over a few days earlier for the G8 meeting to help you plot something if Angleterre hasn't shown up by then. You also might want to team up with the rest of the Allies and Axis. I'm sure they would love to help._

_Adieu,_

_~France_

America frowned at France's message and reread it over a few times. He knew that England believed in magic but magic couldn't possibly exist so he also waved it off as the crazy ramblings of an old man. Same with the talking to imaginary creatures that England made hide all his coffee. And the black magic circle in the basement. And all those old spell books that were also in the basement. And the 'friendly' (England said, America didn't trust England on this one) ghosts up in the attic. Plus those giant monsters he always seemed to be able to get at a seconds notice for Halloween.

Okay, America was starting to get a little scared now. There was a lot of evidence against his 'magic doesn't exist!' campaign and most of it was right under his nose. Either that or England was a really devoted believer.

America decided he wanted to get a look at the evidence close up. That meant he would have to go to England's house. America shivered a little at the thought. If England was home, he would get kicked out and sent straight back to America but he would know England was okay. If he wasn't there then that allowed America to snoop all he wanted. It was a sort of paradox, now that he thought about it.

America turned his phone on again and and clicked on his airport app. There was a flight from his nearest airport that left in the evening. He growled softly and began to pace the room again. The 10 hours that would normally have gone in a split second now seemed like forever.

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**So, really short chapter. This is more of a filler so you know what's going on outside of England's POV. I'll make the next chapter long to make up for it.**


	4. Chapter 4: Diagon Alley Part 2

**Takes place a few hours before the last chapter. Technically it was at the same time but because of time zones it's around 5-6 hours before.**

**One more thing, I know that England is very OOC in this fanfiction. I never really liked tsundere England because all the English people I know are very friendly and none of them have any sort of nasty attitude. I also just find it weird to refer to someone English with a Japanese quality. So, I tried to make the England in my story more sophisticated and slightly badass. I think that only the other countries (cough *France* cough *America*) can actually piss him off. Because to be honest, England is a pretty badass country. Did you know that in the mid 1700's they owned nearly a fourth of the world and were a huge industrial center? Americans, the Industrial Revolution did not start in America and not with the cotton gin! It started in England before America was a country with the seed drill and a few other inventions and then spread to the rest of Europe. It took a little while though because they were kinda in the middle of trying to kill each other. There were a bunch of different wars going on, what with the New World and all...I have a hard time keeping track. Anyways, now that I've given you my very un-professional history lesson for the day, on to the story!**

Chapter 4: Diagon Alley Part 2

England was awoken by the sunlight streaming through the window in his rented motel room and the rising chatter out in Diagon Alley. He yawned loudly and stretched then staggered precariously from his bed and wandered blearily around his room for a few seconds before he was able to get his bearings.

It was already morning and wizards were starting to rise from their various housing developments and slowly fill the streets. It was the start of England's second day back in the wizarding community.

He took a shower first. Wizards did use showers but they had a water-producing spell instead of pipes but it felt the same either way. England dried his hair as he stepped out and yawned appreciatively at the sight of sunlight casting a pretty golden glow over everything. Mixed with the odd, old-fashioned style of the motel it gave a medieval look.

England picked up his green robe which he had discarded sometime during the night and slipped it on. Digging around in his pockets, England managed to find an unused folded piece of parchment and a pen, of which he always seemed to have on him somewhere. He unfolded the parchment and placed it on a table. He started to write a list do all the things he needed to do during his time in Diagon Alley.

1. Buy an owl and send the letter to Dumbledore  
>2. Get some more reasonable robes<p>

The green ones that he was wearing were the only set of robes he had.

3. Gather more materials  
>Parchment<br>Ink  
>Quills<br>Broomstick

4. Books  
>5. Get into the Ministry to look around, see how's it's changed<p>

England leaned back and surveyed his list. It was short and pretty simple but he knew that in reality it would take him much longer than that. Figuring out major events in the past fourteen years wouldn't be hard, all he to do was find a few select books, but finding out the significance and more hushed up changes would be harder. He would have to infiltrate the Ministry which he do with his awesome spying and sneaking skills. He also wanted to do that anyways, just to piss them off. England wasn't a huge fan of the Ministry.

England tightened his cloak around him and strode out of him room. He had, very carefully, cleaned up the mess he made with the _Weinmannia spiraeoides_ one when he got a back and right before he went to sleep. As he crossed the lobby of Zonk's, he ignored the attendant's inquisitive eyes on him and walked straight out of the front door.

Diagon Alley was still bustling with wizards as England pulled out his parchment and surveyed it again. Owlry first.

There were many owlries in Diagon Alley as owls were always in high demand. Even now England could see them swooping and soaring through cracks in the building, browns and blacks, spotted and tawny. All he had to do was follow the majority of the hoots and he arrived at the main owlry in record time.

As England opened the door his ears hit with a loud cacophony of noise, hoots and squawks, howls and shrieks. He hissed slightly and covered his ears. He hurried quickly to the front desk and rapped loudly on it which the back of his hand. The witch behind the desk was shuffling through a few piles of parchment and didn't look up.

"Excuse me," England said loudly, leaning in a little. The witch continued shuffling through her papers and didn't look up.

"Excuse me!" England said more loudly, waving his hand to catch her attention. She still didn't notice him. England sighed and finally shouted, "EXCUSE ME!"

The witch looked up and have him an irritated look over the top of her wire rimmed spectacles. "What do you want?" she snapped, thought that was just what England assumed she said since he couldn't hear her clearly over the loud owl noises coming from all over the places. It could have easily been "fuck you in the gut" but England doubted that. He didn't think that that was thing.

"I NEED AN OWL!" England yelled. The witch frowned and waved her hand about in a manor that clearly expressed, "look around you, lots of owls."

England rolled his eyes slightly and turned to walk around the shop. There was every kind of owl possible stored in cages. England felt a little bad for the animals, all coped up. Most of them were flapping their wings and judging by their wailing he assumed they wanted out. Owls were animals but by some twisted logic of ownership they were still sort of his citizens so he could feel their pain.

Something touched his leg slightly and England and he turned in surprise. A smallish grey owl with beige stripes running vertically down his body (**A/N: It's a barred owl, you can google it to find out more about the type.)** had reached his wing through the gaps in it's cage and nudged him. England blinked a few times. The owl wasn't hooting but rather gazed up at him with inquisitive eyes. Leaning down slightly, England gently placed his hand on the birds cage. He in turn placed him wing on England's hand. England smiled softly and thought, _this one's intelligent._

England picked the cage that the barred owl was in and brought it over to the counter. The witch looked up at him through her spectacles as he walked in and mouthed, "3 Galleons."

He handed the money over and picked the owl up inside the cage.

As soon England got outside he wandered into and alleyway he released the barred owl from it's cage. The owl dutifully landed on England's arm and flapped his wings a few times as if to test them.

England leaned against the alley wall as whispered quietly into the owl's ear, "Hi there. I'm United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, though I also go by the England and Arthur Kirkland." The owl looked up him with big, expressive eyes and England knew he understood. Mused England, "I need to name you. A name...a name...how about Excalibur? Arthur and Excalibur, now that was a pair! Fits, doesn't it?"

England laughed lightly. "Of course," he said quietly. "I have the real Excalibur in my house but I think that it's still a good name. Now," England pulled out his short letter to Dumbledore and handed it to Excalibur. "Take this to Dumbledore. Dum-bul-dore? Got it?" The owl blinked and England grinned softly. "Now go!" he hissed and shoed the owl into the air.

Excalibur's huge wings flapped and he slowly rose into the air and disappeared over a building.

England brushed off his robes a bit and pulled out his list. The next line read 2. Get some more reasonable robes. England grimaced slightly but padded back out into the streets and blended back into the crowd.

Madam Malkin's was the ideal place to get robes if you were a student as she tended to only make stuff for children so England had to go to Robin's Robes. Robin, despite his pretty name, was a burly man with spiky black-brown hair and reddish eyes who made you quiver in fear the first time you saw him and wonder why in the world someone like him would chose to be a tailer. He was actually very nice and England considered him a friend though they hadn't seen each other for at least 20 years. Though Robin only knew him as the allusive and odd Arthur Kirkland.

England realized with a start the fault in his logic as Robin might actually recognize him. He frowned slightly and paused briefly on him purposeful walk. Shaking his head slightly, England pushed that thought out of his head and continued to move. He'd just have to risk it.

England nudged open the doors to Robin's Robes and trotted inside. A bell rang somewhere in the shop and a deep male voice called, "Coming!"

Robin himself appeared from around a pile of clothes and said, "Welcome! What can I do to..." He trailed off. "Arthur...Kirkland?"

England flinched. Of course he would recognize him. Robin, like Olivander, remembered just about everybody he served, for better or worse.

"Um, yeah, that's me," muttered England, shifted uncomfortably under the other man's gaze.

Laughing, the Robin enveloped him in a hug. "Arthur! Wow, you haven't changed a bit, have you?" He let go of Arthur and the smaller man quickly backed off and adjusted his messed up robes. "So, how have you been these years? Success in that dream of yours?"

England gave a nervous laugh. He remembered the lie he had fed Robin about wanting to become an international embassy for the wizarding community of Britain. "Ah, no. Never could get enough recognition so now I work in...um...America! Yeah, America as a...a...an advisor to some important people..." He gave another nervous laugh and hoped that Robin hadn't noticed the fact that he had just made up a career on the spot.

"Well, that's all good then!" Robin said heartily. "Say...have you found that special lady yet? Or man?" He winked suggestively. England shook his head.

Robin just sighed and ran his hand through his messy black hair. "Your hopeless, I tell ya! Anyways, I should still have your measurements somewhere so why don't you go wait in the back room while I go try and find them?" He pointed in the general direction and then turned and trotted off into the recesses of the shop calling back, "You're gonna have to tell me how you look so young someday!"

England watched as he disappeared around a corner and let a long breath of relief. Now that had been nerve racking. It was a good thing that Robin wasn't too bright.

He padded along the path that Robin had pointed out and followed it until he got to a small room in the back with a circle of chairs and orangey skylight. There was me other occupant of the room, a boy who looked to around 15 or 16 with slicked back blonde hair and piercing grey blue eyes. He reminded England of a young Germany.

The boy glanced up at him sharply as England look a seat across from him before looking back down at his hands. England blinked slowly at him.

"Hey," the boy asked. "Are you a Mudblood?"

England raised a thick eyebrow. "Now that's a bit rude, don't you think?"

The boy glared at him. "Well, are you?" he snapped.

England shrugged. "No, I suppose not."

"Then are you a Halfblood?" the boy sneered.

"Doubt it," England said, giving the boy an odd look.

"Then you're a Pureblood? What family?" The boy seemed much happier after this revelation.

"Eh, don't think so," said England.

The boy growled. "Then what are you? And why to you keep talking like you don't know!?"

"Because I don't," England said matter-of-factly. "I could be Pureblood, Halfblood, or Muggleborn. To be honest, it doesn't really matter."

"What do you mean, 'it doesn't matter'!" snarled the boy, leaning forward. "Blood type is everything! You don't make any sense!" He sat back sharply in his seat and glared at England.

England blinked at him in amusement. "Racist, aren't you? What's your name, boy?"

"Draco Malfoy," the kid said.

"Oh," mused England. "I know your dad. Or I did."

It was Draco's turn to blink in surprise. "You knew my dad?"

"Yes," said England. "I hate him. He killed a lot of people."

Draco narrowed his eyes and England was surprised at the uncanny resemblance he had to Germany. "Don't. Insult. My. Father! He could destroy you're entire family with the power he has!"

England smirked, feeling oddly powerful. "Ah, I doubt that."

Draco glared at him. "Bloody bastard," he growled under his breath. England let the smirk slid off his face and he narrowed his eyes. Opening his mouth, he prepared to give a retort but was interrupted as Robin walked back in.

"Arthur!" he said. "I've got your measurements. Come with me so we can pick some more stuff out!"

"Right then," England said and got up and followed Robin out of the waiting room. Draco sat back down, looking very put out.

Robin made England try on a whole bunch of seemingly random things until he had found something he deemed appropriate for the country. England wasn't really sure what his standards were but the guy chattered away like there was no tomorrow and and constantly fangirled over everything. England almost called him Poland a few times, because to be honest, the big guy acted exactly like the girlish European nation except that he didn't crossdress. It reminded England painfully how just plain weird wizards and foreigners could be. They were really similar in that way.

"What about this?" Robin asked, handing England a dull red robe with emerald green bands around the edges of the cloth. The inside was black and slightly fluffy with pockets. It reminded England a little of Russia's favorite army jacket as well as the long overcoats that his people often wore.

"Sure," muttered England nonchalantly, slipping off his green robes and putting on the red one. To his surprise, it fit well and was comfortable unlike many of the other ones Robin had made him try on. Wizard robes tended robe itchy and annoying but this one fit him well and he like it.

"I'll buy this one," England said as he took the robe off and placed it one the ground at his feet.

"Hmm?" Robin looked up from here he shuffling through a few piles of cloth in boxes. He frowned when he caught sight of the robe that England had selected. "Arthur, that one isn't very good quality and I don't think it looks great on you. You should get something a little more suited to you."

"I like it," insisted Arthur, putting his foot down firmly. "It's comfortable." And it reminds me of my people, though he didn't say that out loud.

Robin blinked at him for a few moments and then sighed. "Whatever you say Arthur. You're a good friend of mine, so I trust your intuition. Here, I have few other models." He handed England a dark blue robe with black cuffs and the furry inside and another one that was green with dull red cuffs.

England grinned. "I'll take them all. And this." He picked up a black scarf. It was summer now but when winter came it would be useful.

England brought the articles of clothing and said goodbye to Robin, feeling relived that he hadn't been questioned to much on his appearance. He hoped that he didn't run into anybody else he had known once and have them recognize him.

It was around 10 o'clock in the morning and the street were starting to fill up. Wizards bustled past, heading to work or otherwise, their long robes billowing out as they rushed past. England bought a Daily Prophet from a newspaper vending machine and sat down on a nearby bench to read it. The headline blared, **Harry Potter, Famous or Infamous?**

England frowned at that and sat down to read the article.

_Harry Potter had been claiming since last summer that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has retuned after his timely death fourteen years and he was at fault for the tragic death of Cedric Diggory. But who much of the claim is true?_

_The article went on to explain how Potter had been saying that Voldemort had returned however it all had to be lies and that Potter had probably lost his mind at the horror of seeing his classmate die. England snorted scornfully at this. As much as he hated to admit it, Voldemort was most definitely back. He had felt him the moment the sneaky bastard had stepped back onto his soil fully formed. It had sucked. He had been coughing up blood for a few hours at least and he hadn't been able to stand for another few hours after that. England felt that he was extremely lucky there hadn't been any nations prone to pestering around at the time._

England folded up the paper and placed it in his bag that contained his new robes. Pulling out his list of things to do, he checked on the next thing. Gather more materials; parchment, quills, ink, broomstick.

To be honest, England had no idea where to get materials from. He looked around, scanning for something that might alert him of the materials he needed to buy. There was a shop a little to his left named Amanuensis Quills and he figured that was the probably were to go if one needed quills.

England stood up, squeezed through a few crowds, and padded over to the shop, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

Like most wizarding shops, it was small and dusty with low lighting and a very old fashioned style. There were also quills everywhere. They were piled up in mounds, there were quills in cups and glasses, there were quills in boxes, on shelves, just all over the place. England selected a few that he liked, payed for them and then walked out.

Getting the rest of his mandatory materials was easy enough. He managed to track down all the necessary things that he needed and then some. England had forgotten just how much interesting stuff there was in Diagon Alley. There were also sorts of weird things and special items plus all the wizarding equivalent of all the Muggle items.

After dropping all the things he had collected in his room, which included quills, parchment, ink, a new broomstick, a small section of potion ingredients, candy, lots of books, and a never ending rainbow sparker that he had gotten for America because whether the idiot believed in magic or not, he would love the thing.

England returned to the streets and headed straight to Flourish and Blotts, intent on reading all he could on wizards in general. Even though he had been in touch with the wizarding world for a good few hundred years (though only a few select officials knew who he was) it had mostly been for business purposes and he had never been able to experience the magic beyond and basic education. Now he had the chance so he got straight to work the wizard way; books, lots of them. Honestly, with all their discrimination on Muggles, they just couldn't realize the beauty in some of the stuff they did (e.g. Internet, cell phones, weaponry). They also, apparently, didn't realize quite how powerful a nuke could be...

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}_**

Dumbledore was, to be perfectly honest, bored. School would be starting up again in a little less than a month so until then he really had nothing to do. The Order of the Phoenix was going well and he didn't need to intervene with anything.

A knock on his window sounded and Dumbledore looked up in surprise. He wasn't expecting any mail, was he?

Outside was a grey barred owl that stared at him with odd, large eyes. Dumbledore opened the window hesitantly and let the owl, wondering who in the world it could belong to. The owl was holding a large envelope in it's beak which it carefully set down on the table next to Fawkes before landing lightly on the perch next to the Phoenix, not seeming bothered by the flame-colored bird in the slightest. Fawkes stared at the bravery of the smaller bird before settling down and letting the owl sit next to him. Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow at his Phoenix's odd behavior before he picked up the envelope the bird had brought.

Dumbledore opened the letter and quickly read through the letter. It was a job registration letter from one 'Arthur Kirkland'. Dumbledore read through his résumé. It was good and stated Kirkland's good greats and memorial feats. However, being who he was, Dumbledore began to notice several strange things.

First thing; Kirkland never stated his school. Most wizard were proud of their place of education as there weren't many wizarding schools in the world. Arthur was British, he stated his nationality but he had never gone to Hogwarts. Dumbledore would have known him then. Second, he was only 23. Very young to become a teacher and especially odd. If Arthur wanted to become a teacher, it was more likely that he would go the the place were he learned magic instead of just some other random school. So why Hogwarts? Dumbledore also noticed that some of the dates in his résumé, like when he was born and graduation (still didn't say school) dates, looked like they had been recently changed. Most people wouldn't have noticed something small like this but Dumbledore did. And Dumbledore didn't know him. That was odd, since Dumbledore knew almost everybody in the wizarding world in some way or another. He thought that perhaps, he had heard the name somewhere before but it had only been in passing and if he remembered correctly, it had been a long, long times ago, much longer than a mere 23 years.

There was another thing to. Dumbledore pulled the Daily Prophet out from under a pile of other useless papers and propped it open. He flipped through a few pages until he got to the back. Inside there was a small side article that said, "Young Wizard 'Arthur Kirkland' Opens Vault One! Goblins Surprised." The article was small and hidden where most people wouldn't notice it but Dumbledore wasn't exactly most people. It was short and didn't give much information but merely explained the oddity that had occurred.

Folding up the paper, Dumbledore placed it precariously on top of the papers on his desk. Well, he thought to himself. Let's give this 'Arthur Kirkland' a try.

Dumbledore picked up his pen and wrote on a fresh piece of parchment;

_Dear Arthur Kirkland,_

_I am willing to see how you would fare as a professor at my beloved school. Please give me a good time to schedule a meeting with you. I have no preferences._

_Sincerely,  
>Albus Dumbledore<em>

_P.S. Your owl is very odd. He was not afraid of my Phoenix Fawkes in the slightest._

Dumbledore handed the paper to the barred owl and it gave a short nod in his direction before flying off through his open window.

**_[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}_**

**Sorry for the late update! I had some other work and mild writer's block. Anyways, I realized while writing this that Harry Potter takes place around the 90's whereas I've depicted this to be around 2010 to now. So, let's just sort of ignore that and say that this story takes place in the 90's and the Muggle technology is just advanced a little quicker so we already have things like cell phones and Internet. 'Kay?**

**Review, please! I love reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5: Two Weeks Is A Long Time

**Hi everybody! Thanks so much for reading my story, I can't believe I have over 50 followers already and with such little written. It really warms my heart to know that so many people appreciate my work...**

**Anyways, I apologize that this is so late. I got really distracted writing this one shot with a bunch of pairings and parts (I gave it up, sorry) and some school assignments, so...yeah. Sorry 'bout that.**

**Also, this chapter will contain some mild USUK. It's not a major part of the story and won't every actually happen but it's pretty obvious that America has a crush on England. However, England doesn't retaliate the feelings and America never acts upon it (well, not beyond normal America behavior). I have a shipper's brain and honestly can't help it, but I really don't like nationverse pairings. They don't make a lot of sense and are kind of...improbable. I could go into more detail but I don't want to bore you more than necessary. So, onto the story.**

**Chapter 5: Two Weeks Is Longer Than It Seems**

England had had a great two weeks if he did say so. No one bothered him and all he had to do was read all day. It was awesome.

The first third and fourth days that England had stayed in Diagon Alley, he had gotten sick. He was kind of disappointed at this because he hadn't expected another one of Voldemort's killing sprees so soon but he couldn't do anything to stop it.

England had stayed in his room for those two days, constantly throwing up blood. He knew that he had been delirious. He saw swirls and multicolored shapes everywhere and his magical friends that the others insisted didn't exist flittered around his vision in short phases. They talked quietly to each other and cared for him in their own way; watching his body and keeping him company. England didn't remember much about those two days he was sick with Voldemort Influential Attack Disease, for VAID, as he had taken to calling to. His head hurt, not the kind of aching pain one gets after a night of hefty drinking but rather sharp stabbing pains that made him lose conscience occasionally.

He also felt it in his heart. All nations felt a consistent, small pricking in their hearts that was their people dying and it got worse during times of war and crises. For whatever reason, crises in the magical and wizarding worlds tending to affect nations more so that normal problems. Granted, him, Norway, Romania, and a few of the really small nations were the only ones to interact (or previously did) with their magical communities so they were the only ones to ever deal the affects. Most of the other nations didn't even acknowledge their existence and often teased the Magic Trio for their silliness. Norway had a theory that it was because of the other nations' disregard to magic that it affected the magical nations so much. They were, literally, feeling the magical affects over several nations, not just their own.

Norway also thought that if England had separated from his magic community he wouldn't feel the affects as much. It had seemed like a good option, especially after the devastating results of the first Wizarding War but, by how much Voldemort's return had affected him, it hadn't work. England made a mental note to chew out Norway for his bad advise later.

The next few days after he had healed up a bit, England had had a great time, if he did say so himself. He spent more time in the library then he would like to admit, just reading. The rest of the time he explored Diagon Alley. Wizards were very interesting with all sorts of cultural ideas and habits that differed at times so much from that of humans that England often found himself wondering of they were really the same species.

England did, despite his stereotypes and consistent treatment to the other countries, have a nice streak. He spent quite a bit of time finding a small gifts for a flew of the other countries. Some well-known fancy wizarding wines for France (the wanker better appreciate it!), hard wizarding vodka imported from Russia for Russia since he had probably never tasted it due to his inactivity with his magic community, and some brightly colored, magical, Chinese stones for China. He had also gotten a maple charm that warded off forest monsters for...uh...what was his name?...America's brother?...and a necklace woven from the hair of apparent Japanese gods for Japan. England thought that it was a pity Japan couldn't see his magical side anymore since it was so amazing and detailed. It did have to wonder though, how did Japan disconnect?

England had, of course, gotten sparklers for America but he still hadn't picked out anything for Italy and Germany. He honestly had no idea what the two would like so he had put if off for later. Pasta and wurst weren't really wizarding specialties.

The last item of England's list was to infiltrate the Ministry to see of he could discover anything that had been hidden from average public. But mostly he did it just to piss them off when they realized someone had gotten in. Now that had been fun.

_England gripped his _Weinmannia spiraeoides_ wand in his hand, the silly star charm placed firmly on the top. He had a midnight black traveling cloak on that hid his slender form well in the shadows. He missed his Invisibility Cloak though. England had gotten rid of it when he had tried to disconnect from the wizarding community. It had been extremely useful with his many investigations. England had also found it immensely funny when the other countries could not figure how he had achieved information without them noticing at all._

_The shadows seemed to envelope England as part of them as he stepped delicately into a dim alleyway. Not many people knew, not even some of the most important people in the Ministry, but there was actually a back entrance to the main headquarters. It had been closed up a long, long time ago but due to the Zancrow Explostion of 1867 it had partly reopened that allowed someone to crawl through the unstable chute. The tunnel came out in a mostly abandoned hallways. At least, England hoped it was still abandoned._

_England approached a small, dirty rubbish bin in the back of the alleyway. Some unrecognizable glop spilled from the edge and England could smell the mold that grew all around the can. Pinching his nose in disgust, England carefully removed the top of the bin. It was filled to the brim with garbage, rotted vegetables, a moldy sandwich and some kids' old lunch bags._

_Using his foot, England carefully moved the rubbish bum aside to reveal a small opening in the ground. He smirked in triumph and slipped inconspicuously into the dark tunnel, hooking his nails under the bottom rim of the can and pulling it over top of him._

_The tunnel was dark, damp, and very creepy but England knew the way like the back of his hand. He didn't bother using the lumos spell to light his way (for two reasons actually; one, because he didn't need to, and two, because he want to actually blow something up, as fun as that would be)._

_A small blueish light glimmered ahead of him as England neared the end of the tunnel which came out of wall. There was one brick already missing that allowed him to peak carefully out to check for anybody. He leaned against the wall and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to hide his bright hair. Slowly, England pushed out the brick that would open the wall. Much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, he thought._

_The wall creaked open and England flinched at the loud scratching it made. He held his wand tighter. England knew that it would be of much use because at the moment the only magic he could do was to detonate stuff. He hadn't yet gotten his new wand back from Olivander. Even so, he felt much safer with the familiar wood stick in his hand._

_England carefully padded through the seemingly deserted hallways, not making a sound. He was amazed at how easy the whole thing was, nowadays with all the high technology and alert systems it had become much harder to hide himself. Wizards really were stupid. They acted all high and mighty but in reality they could be wiped off the planet if their existence was ever found in bad name._

_A whisper of voices hit England's ears and he hit the wall, standing perfectly still until he could make out where they were coming from._

_"Did you hear?" The first voice sounded distinctly male though it had an odd high pitch too it._

_"Hm." The next voice was also male, though this one had an overly deep voice and England got a mental image of Sweden in his head._

_"That Harry Potter boy has he his hearing today! And in Courtroom Ten, no less!" The wizard with the high pitched voice seemed very excited about the whole thing. "Can you believe it, Annatik?"_

_"Hm," the other, Annatik, answered in a disinterested tone._

_England blinked slightly in surprise at this new information. Courtroom Ten? If he remembered correctly, and from the old maps of the layout of the Ministry, Courtroom Ten was located in a branch of the lower side that wasn't used very often anymore. Mostly because there weren't enough crimes done recently that required a full court. Potter must have really done something bad._

_England edged closer to the sound of voices to try and gather more information but they had already moved on, the echoes fading into the distance of the long corridors._

_He draped his black cloak tighter around himself and slipped quickly along the hallways. _Courtroom Thirty-six, Courtroom Fifteen, ah! Courtroom Ten!_ England thought as his bright green eyes flicked left to right, checking for danger._

_There was nobody there. England figured that people who were planning on judging Harry Potter simply hadn't arrived._

_He leaned against the wall and sat perfectly still, all senses opened for any sign of disturbance. After a while, a few lone footsteps echoed down the long hallway and England tensed, waiting for any sign of life._

_A man plodded down the hallway, his arms crammed full of papers and documents, some of which fluttered to the ground, leaving a trail. He was muttered to himself as he leaned against the door to open it and walked in. A large flock of the funny little paper airplanes followed him dutifully, occasionally swooping down to poke him in the shoulder. England frowned in concentration and tightened his grip on his _Weinmannia spiraeoides_ wand slightly. He briefly considered following him in but decided against in when he thought that the room would fill up and someone was bound to notice England. Through, wizards were known for their stupidity and lack of a security system so he though that maybe not._

_Still. If they did catch him, it would spell big trouble for England. He knew that he wouldn't be able to get a job at Hogwarts if he was arrested so he thought that it would be better if he didn't out himself at too much risk._

_England flit quickly and quietly across the hallway and leaned against it, listening carefully. More people began to arrive, witches and wizards all decked out in Ministry robes and all carrying a variety of papers. They all filtered slowly into the Courtroom Ten._

_England sat still and patiently but nothing happened for a while after the last witch went inside. He couldn't here anything either; the wizards at least had enough sense to soundproof the walls and he didn't want to risk using his Weinmannia spiraeoides wand._

_He turned and began to walk swiftly away, feet making no sound and all senses peeled as he made his way back to the entrance of the tunnel._

_England figured he must have zoned out a little because he almost ran into someone._

_"Woah, sorry," he muttered, quickly sidestepping the black haired boy accompanied by a reddish haired man and continued on his way. He eyes widened a few moments later as he recognized the boy from one of the large information banks in his mind. "Harry Potter..." he breathed and glanced sharply behind him. But the boy was gone, probably rounded a corner._

_England shook his head slightly and continued on his way, making sure to pay more attention this time 'round. But he was smiling. He had gotten in and was almost out and the fucking Ministry hadn't noticed. Ah, they were really stupid._

England smirked to himself at that memory as he slung a satchel filled with various items from Diagon Alley over his shoulder. Though he needed to be at Hogwarts in two weeks and pick up his new wand (he was still a bit uncertain about this) in one England planned to relax in his large mansion in London for a few days.

He sighed happily at the thought. He didn't get a vacation very often and even if this particular one was just so he could keep and eyes on the wizarding world he thought it would be nice to be home and have nothing to do. England had a lot of books -like, a lot- and he was looking forward to indulging himself in a good story; something he hadn't done in a while.

Hoisting his satchel higher on his shoulder, he shut the door of his rented apartment behind him. He wouldn't miss the place, even though it was nice he simply couldn't relax in it.

As England passed through the little lobby he caught the eye of the assistant and glared back in annoyance. The guy seemed to have developed a bit of a crush in England since he kept staring at him with disturbing intensity every time England walked through the lobby. Being the stubborn pirate he was at heart, England glared defiantly back, refusing to back down.

A gentle drizzle freckled England's face as he stepped outside into grey clouds and stormy skies and he blinked slightly, flicking water from his eyelashes. England turned his head up to stare at the sky, watching as the small, dark droplets flashed across his vision. He sighed and tightened his hand around his satchel strap. This was going to be a long trip, he could feel it.

_**[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}[]{}**_

America padded swiftly through the World Trade Center building in the center of New York. The G8 had started 5 minutes ago and, of course, he was late. Again.

America shoved open the door to the room in which the meeting was being held rough and strode inside.

"Howdy, y'all's!" he said loudly. The other nations had been chattering idly to each other before the host nation arrived and they all looked up at him in surprise, expecting him to have been much later. Grinning, America bounced to his reserved seat at the head of the table and plopped down unceremoniously. A mess of paper, most of them being important documents that he should be careful with, were sprawled all over his area.

"Okay, first things first!" America said brightly, ruffling through his papers randomly. "Role call!"

America looked excited and his usual 'American idiot' self but underneath all that he was swirling with dread, worry and hope. Even though they had to hold a G8 meeting anyways, this meeting was also held specifically for another purpose, a purpose that only he and France knew about.

England was still missing. He had tried everything he could in such a short time, all pulling up blanks. He had called England's boss and the Queen with zero success both times. It was uncommon for nations to converse with other nations' bosses, probably because if they wanted to deal with a nation they would do just that. If a nation did contact another nation's leader, it was naturally accepted behavior to ignore it under the suspicion that the other nation was just doing it be a nuisance. (Wonder how that happened.)

America had tried getting a hold on England's brothers too. After Scotland's drunken answers two weeks ago, he hadn't picked up again and America was pretty sure he was ignoring him. Ireland and Northern Ireland hadn't known anything either but they didn't care. America couldn't get them to help. They just thought that he would turn up eventually, drunk of his rocker and pining about things that happened hundreds of years before.

The other European countries needed to be asked too but America had decided to wait and save that conversation for the G8 meeting. He hoped that the other superpowers would agree to help him when they found out about the England Predicament.

Finding the right paper, America placed it on the wooden podium and grabbed a pen.

"Okay," he said. "Let's see who's here. Italy!"

"Ve~, I'm here!"

"Germany?"

"Ja..."

"Japan!"

"Hai, I am present."

"Commie bastard?"

"Do not call me that, Amerika. I am not communist anymore." Russia frowned and tightened his grip on his pick axe.

"Ha ha, sorry," America said, not sounding sorry in the slightlist. "France?"

"Oui!"

"America? Oh no, wait, that me!" America laughed lightly. Moment of truth. He gulped. "England...?"

" 'ere, mate."

America's head snapped up at the vaguely familiar voice. The spot where England would normally sit had been replaced by a young man with bright red hair and glinting green eyes. America noticed that they were startlingly similar to England's.

The man was lounging lazily in his (England's!) chair. In one hand he had a large flask of what America presumed was beer. He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. His eyes flicked all over the room with the integrity of someone who had seen years beyond years of of war, famine, disease, and overall hardship.

"Who are you?" America snapped.

"I am Scotland," the green-eyed man said, looking at America with an unnerving steadiness. The superpower resisted the urge to gulp nervously. This was Scotland?

"Scottie, dude, haven't seen you in, like, forever!" He scratched his head. "To be honest, I forgot what you looked like!"

"Aye, figured you would." Scotland yawned. "Me wee brother told me to tell ya that 'e'll be out for a while. Doing some...ah, undercover work."

America narrowed his eyes at the obvious lie. He knew that there was something wrong and if he recalled, the same thing had happened before fourteen years ago. However, he hadn't worried so much then because England had notified them several weeks in advance and personally as well as explained the details of his work when he asked. America couldn't quite remember what it was that England had done though.

This time was different. England had simply walked out. "I think you're lying," America said softly, hands curling into fists on the tabletop. The other countries watched the exchange between the two with interest and growing concern.

"Why, mate?" Scotland asked, narrowing his eyes and sitting up straight.

"Because England would tell us if he was going to be out," America whispered, almost desperately. "He's not one to simply walk out, even if the world is pretty stable at the moments. Especially not right before a G8 Meeting and not without telling anybody, except, apparently, his older brother who hates him! It doesn't add up!" America tugged at his hair in frustration then sighed in defeat. "He didn't even tell me..."

"Wait," interrupted Russia. "Are trying to tell me that Angliya is missing?"

America glanced at the pale-haired country sharply then nodded miserably.

"Wha...wann!?" demanded Germany, hands hitting the table and pale blue eyes flashing dangerously.** (A/N: 'wann' means 'when' in German)**

"Well, when he walked out of the World Meeting we had our suspicions but..." France trailed off.

"He hasn't been answering any of my attempts at contact either..." America hung his head dejectedly.

"Ve~ Britain is gone?" Italy asked sadly.

"Werr, maybe he just wants some privacy," Japan interjected carefully.

"Dude, this is England we're talking about. When has he ever rejected company?! Especially after that Splendid Isolation of his." America stared at Japan incredulously.

_Many times_, Japan thought to himself privately.

Scotland scoffed scornfully. "Ha! I guess that you guys really do care about England."

They all turned their stares to Scotland. "What do you mean?" asked America suspiciously.

"Well," mused Scotland, though he seemed rather smug. "England figured that it would really matter if he left because none of you would really care that he was gone. He didn't even think you would notice his absence."

America eyes widened and his glasses slipped a little down his nose. He sat down ungracefully and tightened his hands into fists on the table. "How...how...how dare he!" America exploded, head shooting up to glare angrily at everybody who were willing to meet his gaze. "Think that I...we...don't care..." He growled and the sound resonated, feral, in the back of this throat.

Scotland watched on, amused. "Well, since I happen to despise my precious little brother, I help you mess with him."

All the nations, if they weren't already paying attention, turned to Scotland with renewed interest.

Scotland grinned, a faintly haughty look crossing his features. "So," he drawled. "Would you all believe me if I said magic was perfectly real and that England is a wizard?"

"England? Magic? Right..." Germany said with a rare bout of sarcasm.

"I believe it," Russia said childishly, an impish smile gracing his lips.

Germany gave him an incredulous stare. "Really, Russia? I though you were smarter that that."

Russia smiled at him, a touch of ice in his eyes. "Nyet, comrade. I believe in England and..." He trailed off and seemed to look beyond Germany, an odd, thoughtful expression on his face.

France smirked lecherously and waved around a rose that had appeared from thin air. "I for one, do believe that our dear, dear Angleterre is a wizard, as unfortunate as it is. He has been my enemy for centuries. I know all his...ah, quirks."

America narrowed his eyes at France. "And you didn't tell me?"

France raised an eyebrow at the larger nation. "You wouldn't have believed me anyways." He sighed dramatically and twirled his rose idly between long fingers.

Germany hummed slightly. "We still haven't gotten to why England left so suddenly."

"Ve~," said Italy, looking sad. "Why would Big Brother Britain leave?"

Scotland leaned back in his chair and swirled his mug charismatically all the while smirking. "Iggy'll still owe me after this," he murmured. America frowned at someone else using his special nickname for England. Scotland turned his attention back to the others. "It's like this. There's a sort of evil wizard that invaded England fourteen years ago. That's what he was out for a while."

"Wait," interjected Germany. "I thought that was when he was just out to an undercover job."

"A lie," snapped Scotland, giving Germany a withering look. "He was out because he was sick. And I mean, throwing up blood and vital organs, unable to move at all sick. It was awful. He couldn't eat, he was constantly in pain. I may not be...particularly fond of my brother but he is still my brother and I can't help but pity him."

America gazed at his feet, unable to digest this information. Russia cocked his head to the side, frowning a but. "What happened to this 'evil wizard'?" he questioned. "Did he hurt Angliya very badly?"

"Yes, unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on your outlook," Scotland said, setting his flask on the table and crossing his arms. "This wizard's name was Voldemort." He looked around at the apprehensive countries with narrowed eyes, waiting for their reactions.

America couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Voldemort... What kind of retarded name is Voldemort!?" Unable to resist, he fell back in his seat, laughing loudly. His snickers filled the room and the other countries looked on with varying degrees of annoyance.

"It's not funny!" yelled Scotland grumpily, thumping his fist onto the table.

"Yes it is!" America said between gasps. His chair had long since fallen over and he rolled around the floor like a child, hands clutched to his stomach.

Scotland rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Voldemort is merely his alias. I don't know his real name, England wouldn't tell me, but he is probably the darkest, most twisted wizard to ever walk this Earth."

Russia blinked innocently. "I thought that the most twisted wizards came from mother Russia," he said. "Everybody keeps telling me that I must produce the most psychopaths."

"Well, whatever, I believe that England his going head to head with him this time 'round," Scotland said, taking a draught from his flask. Then he frowned to himself and swirled his glass in his hand slightly, looking displeased. "Then again, I suppose he's more for sneaking around, so maybe not."

"'This time around?" questioned Germany suspiciously.

"Ah, yes," hummed Scotland. "Voldemort returned a few months ago and it has begun to affect England's health again. He was killed -well, now he's back so I suppose a more appropriate word would be 'defeated'- fourteen years ago by a mere kid known as Harry Potter."

"Harry Potter..." mused France. "I swear I've heard that name before."

"You might've," said Scotland elusively. "Even among humans, he's pretty famous. Anyways, after that's Norway suggested to England that he disconnect from the wizarding world because Voldemort effected him so badly. They thought that next time there was a disaster in the wizarding world it would hurt him because apparently things in the magical side are more painful that the normal human community."

"Wait," demanded America, recently recovered from his laughing bout. "If it wouldn't effect anymore, than why did this Voldemort's return a few months ago bother him?"

"It didn't work," stated Scotland. "The magical community still effects him. So, he decided to dive right in to try and change things this time 'round instead of just suffering through it."

"Wow..." breathed America. "Poor British dude."

Scotland continued, "Well, if you guys are going to get on with the meeting, I'm getting outta here. It's boring as hell." He stood up, glass in hand, and stretched, yawning loudly.

"Wait!" said America quickly, grabbing the back of Scotland's shirt as he passed. The red-haired staggered slightly and then turned to glare grumpily at America.

"I've got an idea," America said, grinning slightly. He narrowed his eyes. "I want to question Iggy about this. We have to help him!"

"America-san..." Japan started nervously. "What if England-san does not want help? As Scotland-san said, he left without telling us, so maybe he wants privacy."

"Japan, dude," America said. "That's the point! He thinks he doesn't want our help but he really needs it. And I'm the hero! I've got to help my damsel in distress!"

Scotland let out a short, barking laugh. "Damsel in distress! That's a good one! He'd kill you if he heard you say that."

"Ah, amour!" France proclaimed, raising his rose into the air dramatically.

America blushed as the implications of what he had said came crashing down on him. "W-well, y-you know..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his next nervously.

Italy ve'd softly and leaned against Germany who seemed to contemplate whether he should push him off or not. China hid his mouth behind a long sleeve and Russia smiled. Even the corners of Japan's mouth tipped upwards a bit. Scotland smirked.

America quickly recovered himself and stood up straight, a ghost of a blush still lingering. "We still need to help England through his illness!" he exclaimed determinately, punching the air.

"I really don't think he'd appreciate it," Scotland said, raising an eyebrow. "He seems to being to fine for now on his own. And anyways, he told me not to interfere with him."

America lowered his fist and stuck it roughly out in front of him. "I don't care. We're helping him!"

Japan walked up and tentatively placed his hand in the air above America's fist. "I...I will help as well," he muttered, turning away bashfully. "I think...that England-san is probably in more trouble that he realizes. He is known for jumping into things in his own."

"Thanks a ton, dude!" America said happily, grinning at the shorter nation.

France strode to the crowd and lightly rested his rose atop Japan's hand. He smirked. "Angleterre is in for a surprise."

"What do you mean, dude?" asked America, giving France a questioning look.

"Well, he won't be expecting us and he'll probably be pissed," France said. "I assume that we're storming his house? How else do you expect to find him? We can't very well search all over England."

Scotland made an indecisive noise with his teeth. "He'll kill me for this, but I'm in." He placed his hand in the pile.

"Me too!" exclaimed Italy, flouncing over to join them. He placed his hand over Japan's who jumped nervously.

"Ja, I'm in," Germany said, joining the circle.

"I will help," Russia said. "I do not like agreeing with Amerika's crazy schemes but it is good to help a comrade."

America seemed satisfied with this explanation because a smile lit up his face and he turned to last member. "Canada?"

Said nation froze in shock. "M-me?" he stuttered.

"Yeah, c'mon!" America gestured with his head.

Canada staggered to his feet and put his hand into the pile.

"Woohoo!" America cheered as everybody lifted their hands up into the air with various cries.

"We should get Norway first," Scotland said.

"Why?" asked France.

Scotland shrugged. "Next to England and Romania, he knows the most about magic and you'll probably need him."

"I'll call him," offered Germany.

"Thanks, dude!" America said, mock saluting.

As Germany began punching numbers into his cell phone, America roughly threw open the doors to the meeting room and purposely led the charge outside. Whipping out his own phone, he quickly contacted the airports and ordered them to prepare a plane, all the while grinning brightly, a spark in his eye.

The paced the lawns of the meeting building, surprising a few of the guards, until the loud snapping of a chopper split the air.

"Yo! Down here!" America screamed into the wind as all the countries covered their faces from various sticks and bits of dirt that were sent tumbling into the air.

The helicopter lightly touched down and the blades slowed slightly.

"I've called Norway. I explained the situation and he says he'll meet us at England's," Germany said, approaching America while pocketing his phone.

"Awesome!" America exclaimed, giving the other blonde a thumb's up.

"Hurry up!" Scotland shouted from the helicopter opening. He waved at them, flaming red hair sticking out among the grey of the chopper.

America ran to helicopter and jumped in, soon followed by the other countries. "To Iggy's house!" he declared, pointing his finger in a random direction. Scotland rolled his eyes and passed the headphones resting on the floor to everybody.

"To Washington Dulles Airport," crackled over the loudspeaker. "You will then catch a flight to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland's place of resistance." The doors of the chopper closed and the whirring of the blades fading into a dull throbbing as the countries put on their headphones. America bounced excitedly on the balls on his feet as the floor lurched and the chopper took off.

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**And everybody converges on England's house! Well, against sorry about the late update. Also, I want to thank Berlin (Guest) for their friendliness and helpful review. But all that aside, I'll try to update quicker next time.**

**Fun fact for the day: Did you know that England (British Empire and before times included) successfully pissed off 90 percent of all world countries at one point in history? Yeah, just about everybody hates them. Poor England!**

**One more little thing. I included Canada in there at the end because I forgot about him for most of the chapter (I feel like such an American) and I think he deserves a little love. Let's just say that America had a rare nostalgia moment and recalled him from their shared childhood under England.**


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